A Taste Of Winter
by fairiel
Summary: Reader gets out of the bathroom to find the Winter Soldier waiting for her. She comforts him the best way she knows how.


"Nice dress! Are you going to the party?"

Startled, you look around but after the light in the bathroom, you can't see anything in your dark little apartment. You blindly search for the light, but you know whose voice that is. You always know his voice, its deep undertones are etched in you as if it was your own identity.

"James, I know it's you" you state matter-of-factly, finding the switch

Light fills the living-room and there he is, sitting in the shadows, in a tank top and sweat pants, his hair tied in a ponytail. He's been working out, apparently. He usually wears his hair in a ponytail for workout. He picked the habit after she taught him Pilates.

"Shouldn't you be going to the party as well?" you continue as you start to unzip your tight black dress.

He shakes his head. You can't really see his expression because his face is still hidden in the shadows but by his demeanor, you guess he must be sad. It tears your heart apart, wrenching it as no other could do. That's why you're still here, even though you know you should go. You pride yourself that he needs you, even after all this time, even after Steve has found him again. And that must be the truth because why else would he be here, in your room, instead of at the party with Steve?

"No" he says. "But what about you? Why are you undressing?"

"I wanted to go at first, but I figured they don't really want me there, with my Hydra past and all."

You clutch at your dress, preventing it from falling at your feet, a bit uneasy at undressing in front of him. Not that you've never done it before. He has seen you in your underwear countless times. But tonight is different. There's something in the tone of his voice that unsettles you. Something in the way he's sitting by the window, his face hidden from your view, ominously. It irks you somehow.

"I know" he says. "That's precisely why I'm not going."

"But Steve is going to be there!" you exclaim. "Don't you want to be with him?"

"No, not tonight, not with all of them" he answers bitterly.

That surprises you because you thought he adapted well, much better than you. But what do you really know of a person? Only what they choose to reveal to you.

"Wait" you tell him, "I'm going to the bedroom to change."

He chuckles, getting up and walking towards you, getting hold of you. His hand - his flesh hand - burns your skin and you let out a small whimper. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. So far, you've been able to control your feelings in front of him, but there is something about him tonight that makes you want him even more than usual.

"Come on!" he says, mistaking your reaction for simple uneasiness. "It's not like I haven't seen you in your underwear before! Do you need help with your hair?"

He's already unpinning your bun and as the strands of hair fall on your shoulders one after the other, the smell of him overcomes you, turning your head. Yes, he's been working out, and he obviously hasn't showered or changed. His sweat is almost too much for you to handle, as well as how close he is to you. You can feel his breath on your head as his fingers work in your hair, arranging it smoothly around your face.

"Has anything been bugging you?" you ask, making conversation so that you don't have to think about how the proximity of his warm body turns you on.

You know that exercise is his way of venting, of letting out all the pressure and sometimes the rage he feels at his past, all the things he has done and has no control over.

He spins you over suddenly and the dress you were desperately holding close to you falls down at your feet. You flush even deeper, your cheeks turning crimson, but he doesn't even seem to notice your state of unrest.

"It's just that being with all these people, you know, it makes me realize how alone I feel" he explains.

His brow is furrowed. His eyes scream pain.

"They think they know but they have no idea what it's like" he continues. "The things I had to do. I'm not a good person. I don't deserve them. I don't deserve Steve."

He clutches at you, his metal fingers cold against your skin and you let him lean his head on your shoulder like you have done so many times before. He hugs you tight with a long sigh and you hug him back, rocking him and whispering that everything will be alright. Gently, you stroke the nape of his neck to soothe him.

"That's not true, James" you murmur in his ear. "You're not a bad person. They forced you to do those things."

"But it doesn't erase the fact that I've done them" he says, looking at you with a painful expression. "I've killed all those people. You know how it haunts me, how it keeps me awake at night. The guilt - sometimes it's too much, and I can't even look at Steve in the eyes" he finishes , a single tear marking his cheek.

You can't stand the sight of him suffering, you feel it in your bowels as they tighten inside of you, your body echoing his ache.

"Oh, James, I know, I know. You don't have to justify yourself to me" you reply, wiping the tear with a brush of your hand.

"You're the only person with whom I can truly be myself. You have no idea how glad I am you're not going to that party."

You look up at him, a smile dancing in your eyes. That's the first time he is so vocal about his preference for you and it makes your heart flutter with joy. You suddenly feel the need to celebrate it with him.

"Let me put something on and we can have a private party of our own" you say, releasing him and heading for the bedroom. "I have a bottle of tequila hiding somewhere. Can you find it while I change? It must be in the - "

"Got it!" he calls from the living-room.

You have just had time to put on your favorite tee and nothing else that he's already standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, with the bottle of tequila and two glasses.

"How come you always know what I need?" he asks, throwing you the bottle.

You catch it and sit cross-legged on the bed, beckoning him to join you with a wink.

"Cause I love you, that's how" you say playfully.

He sits next to you and you pour the tequila in both glasses.

"I was serious, you know" he says with a frown.

You take a good sip of tequila.

"So was I" you reply, smiling in a flirty way.

"Don't play those games with me."

He looks at you very earnestly and right at this instant, you lose all intention of playing. He takes your glass from your hand and puts it on the bed table with his. Your heart heaves in your chest as he bends on you, pushing you back on the sheets, his hands pinning your wrists above your head. You feel giddy now and that's not due to the alcohol you have drunk.

"James, what -" you begin to ask but he prevents you from continuing with a hard kiss on your mouth, crushing your lips with urgency.

You kiss him back fiercely. His grip on your wrists tightens, cold metal on warm flesh. It almost hurts but it's all that you want. You have been craving for that moment for as long as you can remember. Even when he was in his cryogenic chambers, you longed for it. When he was waiting on his chair to get reprogrammed, you longed for it as well. You have always wanted this. Your whole life. And it feels even better than in your wildest dreams. The smell of his sweat, his chest pressing on your breasts, his crotch pushing at your underbelly, his tongue inside your mouth, burning hot against your palate, his teeth grazing yours, so intense is the kiss. You give in entirely to him and he finally releases your hands only to twine his fingers in yours, still kissing you as hard as he can.

He finally lets go of your mouth, sucking on your lower lip with his teeth. You get a good look at him but worry creases his brow and he pulls away from you, showing you his back. Frustrated, you spring on your knees, rushing to hold him.

"What's wrong?" you ask, confused, your head resting on his shoulders.

He's looking at his hands with vague eyes and it takes him a while to answer you.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. It's just that you always tease me with those words and I'm only a man. I told you I wasn't a good person."

Again, that bitterness in his voice crushes you and you place a sweet kiss on his neck.

"It was nothing I didn't want, James. Believe me" you say, planting another soft kiss on his jaw.

He turns his face to look at you.

"Are you sure?" he asks, still worried.

"I'm sorry you perceive me as a teaser. I want you so very much, I can't help myself at times. You don't know how hard it's been all these months, being so close to you and nothing happening" you say, biting your lips, afraid of saying too much.

He sighs of relief, letting you kiss his lips as softly as you dare. Your hands start caressing him gently, tentatively touching the scar where his metal arm is attached to his body and he sighs harder, pushing back into you, tilting his head back, his hair spilling on your shoulder. You have never seen him so vulnerable, except in his sleep. Your hands trail down his chest, fluttering fingers on his belly and you plunge under his tank top, pulling it up slowly, feeling his flesh tingle under your touch. You put your legs around him as he relaxes completely. He strokes your thigh, his metal hand soft now, and goosebumps rise on your flesh. Your nipples harden against his back as your need for him grows inside of you.

Your fleeting hand settles on his chest, and you press your cheek on his back, listening to his increasing heartbeat. Your other hand finds his rising member under his sweat pants. His breath becomes faster and he plants his fingers in your thigh with a little moan. You lift the seam to have better access to his hardening cock, rubbing your palm all over it, enclosing it in your hand. His flesh is hot and pulsing as you begin to stroke him at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Harder" he says, his voice husky with his desire, and you oblige, your hand sliding fast up and down until you feel a sticky liquid covering your fingers.

He writhes away from you like a cat, quickly getting up and removing his clothes, throwing them away on the floor. You're still sitting on the bed, looking at him, lust clouding your eyes. He gets rid of your tee, bra and panties in an instant and sits you on his lap, his cock dangerously teasing your warm entrance.

"Do what you want" he tells you.

You start to slowly rub yourself on his hard cock, coating it with your juices, but it is not enough to quench the fire inside your belly, so you take his hand and place it on your hot center. He catches the hint and starts caressing you as you take him inside of you but his cock is so large that you can't get all the way down and you just stay there, hovering, trying to catch your breath, not knowing if you should go all the way down. You look at him and see your longing mirrored in his blue eyes.

"Take me all in" he begs. "You can do it."

You place your hands on his shoulders to find a better position and with a jerk of your hips, you push all the way back down, his entire length filling you completely. He utters a loud groan, as he resumes his caresses on your bud. Pleasure spreads inside you as you stay there unmoving, getting used to his size. His fingers expertly rub you and you feel the familiar tingle before the climax. You finally move your hips up and down again, trying to find the right pace when his fingers finally bring you to your orgasm and you cling to him, unable to move, stifling your moans in his neck. He takes control now and starts thrusting in you in long slow motions, his hands on your hips to get deeper. You feel him against the back of your walls and you plant your fingers in his back, your nails scratching him hard. He pushes you back, opening your thighs even wider to get a better angle, going faster and harder now, resting his weight on his metal arm. He could stay like that for hours, you reflect with delight. You have seen him do pull-ups and it takes a really long time for him to get tired. You want him inside of you forever, you think as he thrusts even deeper now, eliciting a new wave of pleasure in you. His hair has fallen off his ponytail and sticks to his face as he thrusts in you, his body straightening with the effort, his hips clashing against yours. Each thrust is a form of sweet torture. You don't know if you want it to end quickly and get your release. Nothing else exists but his cock inside of you, sliding back and forth, pushing further and further each time.

You have just the time to reflect how beautiful he is all sweaty and abandoned when he bites his lip as he comes inside of you, spasms seizing his whole body, shaking with the violence of his orgasm. He stays hovering over you, on his metal arm, mouth open to regain control of his breath, his cock still inside of you. Your own body still shivers with unstoppable tremors and you hold out your arms to him, pulling him to you. He collapses on top of you, his breath still ragged in his heaving chest, his eyes wild. You take him in your arms, kissing him everywhere you can reach, then you gently pull his sticky hair back from his face. You want to tell him how amazing that was but are not quite sure if those are the proper words. He finds your lips and kisses you gently now, all urgency gone, only contentment, a small smile gracing his face.

"Be careful" he says. "I'll want to do it again."

"All the time" you sigh, utterly spent but satisfied.

He stretches on the bed, curling as if to go to sleep. That's when you notice the bloody marks your nails left on his back. You touch them, wincing with the pain you think you have given him.

"I'm sorry, James. I didn't mean to hurt you" you say, kissing his shoulder.

"Hurt me?" he replies. "After all those years of torture, there's no way you could ever hurt me."

You curl against his back, spooning him, feeling the rhythm of his breath back to normal now as he falls asleep. You keep watch as you always do, but for the first time since he has entered your life, his nightmares leave him alone. Lulled by his heartbeat, you enter the realm of dreams as well and for once, they are not better than your reality.


End file.
